


Almost Inseparable

by Sweetloot



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Physical Harm, Psychological Torture, Torture, in case the tags weren't clear this is not happy at all, this physically hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2886821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetloot/pseuds/Sweetloot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://rvb-jamboree.dreamwidth.org/3024.html?thread=151248#cmt151248">Prompt fill</a> for the rvb_jamboree on dreamwidth.</p><p>Bonus Round 4: Word of the Day: "Autotomy: Casting off a limb or other body part, usually done by a threatened animal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Inseparable

His mind was screaming at him, telling him to run, get away, to do _something_ because this was wrong, everything was wrong, but there was nothing to be done.

Church has never been so fucking scared in his life.

He had no idea where he was, what was going on, or why he was there. The room he was in had no windows, no doors, and no possible way he could have gotten _in_ to the place, so there was definitely no way he was going to get _out_ of it either. 

His mind was a whirl of memories, yet he couldn't grasp onto any of them. His head hurt, the ominous blue glow of the room feeling like it was pulsing to the beat of his heart, that same pulse causing agony behind his eyes.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

Church dropped down to his knees, his hands going up towards his helmeted head, fumbling for the latches, but unable to get his hands to cooperate long enough for him to rip his helmet off, throwing it at the wall like he wanted to.

Everything was wrong, everything was so wrong, what was going on, why couldn't he leave, where was he, _who_ was he!

_"Allison!"_

He didn't recognize his own voice, everything about it was so unfamiliar, but he didn't care, it didn't matter. Where was Allison, was she okay? What if something had happened to her? He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

_'She's going to get hurt.'_

Hurt? No, no he wouldn't let that happen. He'd _die_ first.

It felt like he couldn't breathe, like the walls were getting closer, pushing out all the air until he suffocated or was crushed to death. He curled his hands into fists, banging them against the floor. He tried to scream, but he couldn't. His throat was raw, closing up, felt like he had been screaming for an eternity before he had even been aware that he had been doing it at all.

_'She's going to get hurt and it'll be all your fault.'_

_No_. It couldn't happen, he wouldn't _let it_ happen!

_'Save her.'_

He's _trying_ , okay? He doesn't know _how_.

_'Not good enough.'_

Please, _please_ , he just needs a little more time.

_'Time's running out.'_

He's dying, he has to be dying. There's tears streaming down he cheeks, his breath won't come to him. He's trying, he's _trying_ , but he can't do _anything_. He can't save her, can't escape, can't even _breathe_.

_'Leonard?'_

Allison? Allison! No, no, she can't be here, she isn't here. She's _not_.

_'Leonard, what are doing?'_

No, please, she can't be here. She'll get hurt, she'll _die_.

_'Save her.'_

Church takes in one long, shaky breath. He's choking on it, feels like there's blood coating his throat and he's going to _drown_ in it, but he has to, she can't be here.

"A-Al-lison."

_'She can't hear you.'_

"Allison!"

It hurts, it hurts so much to yell, but she has to go.

He's curled up now, full armored in the fetal position with the world spinning and the darkness closing in, but he has to speak, has to make sure she's _safe_.

When he does speak, the words rattle out of his throat like jagged rocks. "Allison, please, please you have to go."

He gets no response.

"Go, go, go, you have to get out of here."

No one replies.

"Go, _leave dammit_.

The walls shake.

"Please, _I can't lose you again!"_

The lights spark in intensity, they glow, and glow, and consume the room with their brightness, until they shatter, the lights falling all around him like shattered glass.

Church is left alone, pleading in the darkness.

-

"Do you have her."

His voice was impassive, devoid of any warmth or compassion as he stepped away from the mic. His eyes did not linger on the screen, nor did they spare a second glance to the figure it showed, curling around himself as the simulation faded to black.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, bring her to me."

The assistant moved quickly, gathering up the Beta unit with efficient movements.

She placed the unit in the Director's hands, stepping back and standing with her back ridged, her hands shaking with the most slightest of tremors as she clasped them behind her.

When the Director didn't address her again, instead looking down at the unit in his hands with the barest hit of an emotion on his face, something she couldn't identify, but only knew wasn't anger, did she step away, returning to her console.

She cleared her throat, posing her hands above the keyboard. "What shall the Beta AI's designation be in The Project, sir?"

The Director was quiet for a moment before speaking, voice clear and in control as always. "Texas."

The assistant didn't question it, instead typing the name with quick fingers, before hovering over a list of designations, some bolded with activation, others grayed out after time. She was quick, clicking the name that had been so carefully locked all this time, and typing in the password to unlock it for use:

_'Allison.'_


End file.
